


The Strange Alien Habits of Dr Julian Bashir

by NB_Cecil



Series: No Privacy on a Space Station [11]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Clothes, Cuddling and Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Morning Rituals, No Privacy On A Space Station, Nudity, Obsidian Order Habits Die Hard, Possible clothing kink, Surveillence!Garak, The Morning After The Night Before, waking up together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 03:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: In which Garak asks Bashir to please put some clothes on and gets more than he bargained for (poor, stuffy old lizard with his Cardassian uptightness and paranoia).





	The Strange Alien Habits of Dr Julian Bashir

Garak cracked his eyes open and instantly squeezed them shut again, throwing an arm over his face to shield his eyes from the bright overhead light.

“Morning,” Said a voice. “Uh, sorry. Computer, lights at 20 percent.”

Garak cautiously lowered his arm—squinting against the still uncomfortably bright light—and saw a human face, inches from his own, hair tousled from sleep, grinning broadly at him. Garak smiled back his closed-lipped smile.

“Do you—“ Bashir grabbed the hand still hovering near Garak’s face and pressed a quick kiss to the palm near the base of the thumb. “—want some tea?”

“Mm, please,” Garak said, pushing himself up on the pillows. “Red leaf. Thanks.”

Bashir flipped the cover back and—yawning—sat up, scrubbed a hand across his face, and without stopping to search for a robe, made his way unselfconsciously to the bedroom door, into the main living space and to the replicator. 

“My dear, do you often wander round your quarters naked?” Garak greeted him when he returned with a steaming blue mug in each hand.

“Hmm?” Bashir hummed absently as he set his raktajino down on the nightstand. He handed Garak’s tea over. “Yes, I do. Why? Don’t you appreciate this view?” He teased, giving his hips a playful wiggle. 

“It’s a very lovely view.” Garak said, suddenly feeling exposed in just his undershirt, sitting in bed in a room he hadn’t swept for bugs. “But isn’t it a bit exhibitionist?”

“Really?” Bashir said, sitting back down on the bed. “Who’s going to see, besides you? And you saw it all last night anyway.”

“Well,” Garak glanced round the room as he spoke. He lowered his voice to a murmur. “You never know who’s watching.”

Bashir snorted and narrowly avoided spitting coffee over the sheets. “I hardly think the Bajoran authorities are in the habit of surveilling people’s private quarters.” He replied.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Garak countered, “Constable Odo is rather fond of his little devices.” 

“Oh, he’s only interested in Quark.” Bashir waved a hand dismissively.

“Even so, would you please put something on?” Garak pleaded, “Out of respect for any unfortunate intelligence operatives who may be forced to endure watching this?”

Bashir chuckled at the absurdity of his date’s paranoia, but decided to humour him, seeing as his continued nudity was causing the Cardassian obvious anxiety. He set his raktajino aside, stood up and began rummaging through a heap of crumpled clothes balanced on a chair in the corner of the room. A wicked grin spread across his face when his fingertips brushed against soft, smooth fabric. He glanced toward the bed and saw that Garak’s attention was now elsewhere, having picked up a padd from the nightstand along with his tea, from which he was reading as he sipped. He closed his fingers round the garment, pulled it free from the pile and quickly slipped it over his head.

“Better?” He asked, turning to face the bed.

Garak glanced up from his padd, eyes widening as he took in the sight of his companion in a very short cream coloured satin night slip. He set the tea and padd down carefully, took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it go in one long, slow _hissss_. 

“Well,” He said, once he’d composed himself, “I do believe that’s one of mine.” Bashir raised an questioning eyebrow. “I made it for Keiko O’Brien last year.”

“I’ve been meaning to return it.” Bashir said, getting back into bed beside Garak. 

“Why do you—?” Garak faltered. “Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll leave you, the reader, to decide just how Keiko’s night slip wound up in Bashir’s quarters. However it got there, I’m sure it was with the full knowledge and approval of both Keiko and Miles. Please do comment below with your theories. I have a few of my own and I’d love to read what you come up with.


End file.
